Chapter 33…Observations…
"I'm sooooo getting this framed and hanging it in my brand spanking new office." I hand Henry the paper and watch his face as he reads it. First, he starts chuckling. Then slaps his hand on the table with a bellowed laugh. Then he throws back his head and he's in a full-on, wheezing, crazy, uncontrollable laughing fit. His humor is so infectious, I can't help but join in. Especially when I look at that paper again.
eLLawyn J. eLLis = LL COOL J
(because she's stylin' and profilin')
p.s. (Will she be Going Back to Cali?
-I don't think so-
Regardless,
the entire Boiler Room will break out in that song!)
This is exactly the response I wanted from Granddad when I high-tailed it up to the neuroscience center—in a cab no less, quickly stopping at The Rambler first to change clothes and pick up the gifts for tomorrow's dinner—to tell him about my day.
I'd relayed this tale to Henry, while wrapping the two smaller gifts from Henry, using his foreign newspapers and a spool of red grosgrain ribbon I'd brought from home. I'd pretty much left out my decidedly non badass fairy tale idiocy with Vince. I didn't tell Cherie, either. When we were strategizing up on the second floor and she'd asked me all the questions that the interns were sure to ask so we could figure out and manipulate a nickname for me, I'd only told her to drop hints to Vince that she was thinking the guys would name me Cinderella. Which she did, brilliantly.
Vince had seemed a bit unsettled after that whole bet and only talked to me briefly about the translation of the company manual. I'd said I had a translation program on my laptop at home that I could feed the computer form of the manual into and all I would have to do was edit it afterwards. He'd suggested, rather kindly actually, that I would be paid for the whole day but that I get it and come back tomorrow. His last words to me were, "I hope you own a pair of khakis." Then he spent his time while the rest of us were eating, shut away in Captain Gray's office, on the phone. I'd left after my delicious lunch of fish tacos from that restaurant Silent Bob had chosen.
When I can get enough breath, I wheeze out, "I counted on him picking up on the Cinderella cues I gave her. And she counted on Vince being so sure of himself and stopping at the first name that came up that wasn't Cinderella. I'm telling you G, she is a total badass!"
When Henry can get enough breath, he wheezes out, "You've got a lot of badass in you, too."
"Hardly." I didn't tell him about hiding in the bathroom, nor precisely what Vince said to Vick, only that we'd overheard him saying some things "disparaging to women" to one of the Falk sons. Everything I said was true—I would never lie to my granddad—I just didn't say much about Vince's and my Cinderella moments, only that he'd previously made some jokey Cinderella comments arising from the elevator: I made no mention of his notes, the shoe and pumpkin, nor my childish notion that he might be attracted to me. I don't want my granddad to know how much of an idiot I am. Was. I've learned my lesson. Hopefully.
"Seriously, dude, you do!" Granddad says. "Think of this…Who is the baddest badass either of us have ever known?"
"The G. M." I answer unequivocally. Both Granddad and I used to call my grandmother a badass. It was a compliment and she took it that way. One time pops in my mind where I witnessed her calling out a Russian diplomat for some ridiculous and unequivocal statement about homosexuals. I've observed a thousand more moments just like that one.
"Of course. And that's defining badassness how?"
"By taking care of those you love. And sticking up for others. And being vigilant in trying to change things for the better, even when it's hard. And always trying to be better yourself. And…"
"There are a lot more ands for sure, but let's start there. Ever since you've been back, your inner badass has been emerging. Case in point, remember the first morning you were here from China, when you met Dr. Grinch? You went all Main Line Philly on him and it was a true thing of beauty to behold. You reminded me so much of your grandmother sticking up for others." Henry gets a sweet smile on his face.
"I was thinking of her right when I met Dr. Grinch, G. Wishing she was there with us."
"Oh, but she was, Little Dove. I saw her in you!" Henry's wistful expression makes my heart heavy. "And then the very next day, when you were so obviously trying to get me to talk you said, 'Use your words.' Remember that?"
"I'm not likely to forget because you got in a laughing fit but I thought you were dy…" I can't even finish this sentence.
"You want to know why that was so funny? It was because back when you wouldn't or couldn't talk once again, after we left Cameroon, that's what we used on you. You might not remember this consciously, but it must be lurking somewhere in your subconscious mind. We knew you'd regained the ability, because you'd spoken in Yoruba—your first words in a year—but once we left for Paris…nada. So your grandmother and I cooked up this strategy one night to get you to talking again. And it was so hard for both of us to remain vigilant when your little face would be screwed up in frustration when we wouldn't respond to your hand signals, your pointing, your rubbing of your little tummy when you were hungry. Instead we'd say…"
"Use your words," we both say.
"And you know I'm not much of a disciplinarian, to put it mildly, especially when it comes to you, but your grandmother was adamant that I not acquiesce. She would turn from you and say 'I can't hear you,' in a singsong voice when you'd make some gesture. Sound familiar? It was just like you did to me a few weeks ago. I remember her anguished face when she turned away, steeling herself, knowing what you wanted, but not indulging you or letting me do it. It was heartbreaking, but it worked. First you spoke French again, then Spanish, both of which you'd learned from your parents, and finally, in London a few months later…English. I remember your first English words like you spoke them yesterday."
I can actually feel the inner walls around this memory turning to dust and a kind of fog lifting away as Henry pauses, watching me.
It was at a park in London—Primrose Hill—not far from the house we were staying at, not far from the U.S. Embassy. A dog had gotten loose from the man walking him. He called out, but the dog wouldn't listen because he was barreling towards me. I kneeled down and opened my arms, knowing he would come to me. When I wrapped my arms around his neck, something clicked in my brain and I could find English words again.
"You're meant to be mine, you know." I say it now, out loud and Henry nods.
"Yes, that's exactly what you said to that pudgy little orange Staffordshire bull terrier named Leo. Your grandmother and I thought he was going to attack you, but you were too far away from us to stop him. When we got to you, he was sitting waiting, as still as a stone lion and you said it to him, then looked up at us and repeated, 'He's meant to be mine.'" Leo had been the dog of that man's elderly dad, who'd just passed away. We followed the man home and adopted Leo right then.
"And here's something you don't know. Your grandmother stopped speaking when she was a child, too, after her much older brother was killed when his plane was shot down." What? I knew Rosamunde's brother died in the way when she was little, but…"He was her favorite person in the world, and then he went off, never to return. It was her family's housekeeper, Hildegard, a stern Mennonite badass if ever there was one—she scared the bejesus out of me!—who got her talking again. Can you guess how?"
"By demanding she 'Use her words'?"
"Uh huh. And guess how else?" My look says I couldn't come up with anything if I tried, so Henry goes on with, "Throw Downs. Hildegard invented them, although she didn't call them such. We named that, your grandmother and me, when a teenaged Bea came to live with us in D.C. We had to be vigilant then, too, although with her, it definitely wasn't about losing language."
"What was it about?" As soon as the words are out of my mouth I know how he's going to answer. This time it doesn't bug me like it did last week. "Wait! Let me guess…"
"Yes, that's her story to tell," Henry chuckles. "But I have no doubt she will, when she's ready. So that recent laughing fit of mine was really because I saw all these…"
"Cycles repeating," we both say.
Henry continues, "I have found, like your new friend Cherie, through observation, that life, the universe, God, Allah, Chi, Olorun, The Great Spirit, Jehovah, The Force, or whatever you want to call It, brings us back to a cycle until we heal it and then we're released from it. Sometimes it seems as if we can know we're in an accelerated cycle when we hear echoes of old. And oftentimes, we are propelled toward that healing at the hands of another person; someone with their own cycle of pain to heal. Helping you served to heal your Grandmother's pain with her brother and the newer pain of losing..." her only son, I mentally finish his thought. Henry eyes are far away now. "And though I cannot possibly know this, no one really can, I've come to suspect in my old age, that when a child of any age, be they nine or ninety, does indeed heal some pain—truly heal it at its core—it reverberates back through time, through one's lineage, one's ancestors, to heal them as well." Granddad shakes it off, his eyes meeting mine again. "Or perhaps that's just the musings of an old man exposed to, and enthralled with, so much of the world's philosophy and mysticism."
I haven't yet gotten to tell him about Philly and the cemetery, and feeling my ancestors and everything and I start to now. "Maybe not, O.G…" But a man sticks his head in the door to say something to Henry I don't understand. When he leaves, I ask Henry, "Urdu?"
"Yes. Dash is a med student from Peshawar who also has the dubious task of driving me occasionally. He speaks English just fine, but I told him my ears could use some Urdu. I am due soon for my scheduled persecution at Rehab and he was telling me that in a few minutes, my carriage will await."
I didn't tell Henry about that note on the pillow and yet he used near the same words Vince wrote—more echoes.
"Can I come with you?" Since I'm now flush with cash from our bet, maybe I could also pop down to the billing office while I'm there to make a payment.
"Today would be tricky. This is a special session and that is why it's not at the usual morning time. Doctors Grinch, Magoo, and several of the other neuroscientists from this institute are going to observe my exercises with Shad and the other techs and then confer regarding the neurological versus physical aspects of it all, so they can better study that pairing. And I also need to tell you I have a meeting tonight and will not be available for dinner either, but I will see you tomorrow night with your friends. In our remaining time, let's get back to your interesting first day. Before I lost my mind over those hilarious bets," he starts chuckling again, "you'd wondered what secret project Captain Gray was up to. But he gave you some major hints, didn't he?"
"I really like it better when you just tell me your insight, G."
"But won't it be more worth the earning to discover it for yourself?"
"If you say so," I mutter. "Okay, it has something to do with China, because he asked me not to let on that I was hired to translate Mandarin, but didn't mention any other languages."
"And what else?"
"It has something to do with some place I've worked prior, but I don't see how that could be. Mr. and Mrs. Song's factories maybe? That's the only Chinese job I've had, if only for a few weeks. I don't think that's it, but it's all I can come up with now."
"I bet you will figure it out soon. In the meantime, how delightful that you're in the thick of political intrigue—of the corporate variety!"
"Delightful? That's not the word I would choose. I like sure footing, knowing the parameters. Besides, I've been exposed to plenty of political intrigue growing up with you in the far corners of the world."
"Yes, but that was with you as an observer. Now you can use what you've observed all those years as you become one of the players. So this will be a learning opportunity to keep your sure footing all the while games are afoot around you. Maybe for you, this is even more vexing as it concerns your young Leif."
Sometimes Henry's insight is almost scary. "Vince, G. His name is Vince. And he's definitely not mine." His discerning gaze seems to work its way into every dark corner of my soul. Time for another subject. "I forgot to mention earlier that Bo actually went to the Coast Guard Academy even though he said he didn't go to a college. Total semantics. He studied Strategic Intelligence and Security. Cherie told me that. He's got that steady Zen energy kind of like Ito does. I like him. And I could swear he fell in love with Cherie during our bet. I saw the way he kept sneaking looks at her during lunch. Sorry, G, I'm prattling on."
"Hearing you prattle is my most favorite sound in the whole world."
I smile at Henry knowing that he's thinking of when I didn't talk at all. "Oh yeah, and they had me sign a non-disclosure agreement at Falk. So I can't talk about work."
"Hmm…" Henry nods thoughtfully. "You know that includes me."
"What does?"
"The non-disclosing. Not talking about your work. Even with me." My eyes go big. I'd not thought of it in regards to my grandfather. "I think of being a secret-keeper as a kind of sacred thing. I very much honored that in my time with the State Department."
"You didn't even talk to Grandmother about work stuff in all those years?" Actually, now that I think about it, I know he did. I was privy to a lot of those conversations.
"Sometimes I could, it depended on the situation. But when I couldn't, yet still needed her help to work out a problem, which was often, I might refer to something or someone obliquely, but leave out the specifics of who, what, why and where. That way I could honor my role as secret-keeper, but still get her much-needed perspicacity. It worked for us and perhaps you and I could do that."
I contemplate what that would be like. My whole life, I've talked to my grandparents about everything. Well…that is, unless I thought it would worry or pain them in some way. I was careful not to bring up some things, such as anything to do with my parents; I would see the stricken looks of grief on their faces whenever that subject did come up, although that changed the older I got when we all started talking about them a little more. And lately, with all the goings-on with Vince, I've kept more from Granddad, but not because it would pain him. It was that I was on such unsure footing with Vince from the beginning—literally, starting from the elevator—that it disturbed me. Or it was something that was mine alone. Maybe this nondisclosure thing wouldn't really be so different.
Henry says, "I will say, I'm very glad you got to tell me that lovely story of the bets before you said anything about the non-disclosure. I would've been sad to miss out on these new friends of yours, even Farmer Ted and Quagmire—they are enchanting! That was a great story!" Henry pauses, then says, "You know, I used to do that same thing with you that I did with your grandmother—ask your opinions, mostly about people. You used to amaze us with what you could discern at such a young age. I think the key then, is it was knowledge or intuition that was outside yourself, so you could see it clearly. Now the trick is to discern things that you are a part of, to project that innate wisdom you have inside. Going forward, keep your eyes and ears, and more importantly, your heart and mind open, perhaps even giving Leif a little leeway as everything is new in his life, too. Maybe it's more vexing for him because it concerns you."
"I doubt that, dude. I think, in essentials, he's pretty much how he's always been."
"Well, however it may be, I would make a bet that you'll figure out the Falk mysteries sooner rather than later. And allow me to let you in on something else I would put a wager on. That is that your Captain does not just run the Boiler Room."
Henry gets up from his chair as it is time for him to go. I still haven't talked to him about Philly in any kind of detail. I guess that will have to wait. Lately it seems as if all I get with Granddad are little observations, stolen moments, never enough time.
His eyes twinkling, Henry says, "I want to ask another question of you. Not to answer me, but for you to ruminate on. And that is…Why were you so sure Leif would not want everyone else to call you Cinderella?"
"Vince, Granddad!" I say. "His name is Vince!"
Delusional—this is the self-diagnosis I come up with as I walk all the way home. I'd meant to take the subway, but Henry's last question to me about Vince got lodged in my mind so I passed by the entrance and kept walking. Because, despite what he said about not being a "fairy tale kind of guy," I can't shake the vague notion that the whole Cinderella thing means more to Leif…Vince; that it's not just jokes made to a…what did he call me?...a spindly little gawky girl. That it was his alone, not to be shared. I have nothing to base this on, it certainly didn't come from anything I observed. But still…
Yep. Definitely delusional. I file that away for now.
I feel an increased empathy for that girl from yesterday—gosh, was it really only yesterday?—because I was sort of like the flip side of her coin. She took Leif's sexual attraction to be caring and I took his caring—because I cannot deny that he has shown me care, like one would a child—to be attraction. I'm no less of an idiot than she was. We both saw what we wanted to see.
It's not just Vince and fairy tales that keep me walking. And thinking. It's that some door has been opened regarding my parents—in me and Henry both. The realization hits me, hard, that my grandparents might've done the same thing to me that I've done to them—not brought up anything that might pain or worry me, or send me back to that quiet place. Bea alluded to it when I overheard them on Friday, but I'm just starting to understand it now. My grandparents and I have both been so careful not to go near the dark places in all of us, that we've missed out on so much. I like how Henry's doling out these bits of my past and my family's past. Okay, I didn't particularly last night, regarding the accident, especially after the shock of thinking Granddad was…but I do now.
Maybe it's exactly time to start exploring the past, little by little. Baby steps. And if I can't handle it in the present…there's Leif to catch and comfort me.
My arms were made for catching you.
Merde! It really would be a lot easier if he was all prideful pendejo or all kind and caring Prince Charming. That pendulum of his is so dizzying, but maybe it wouldn't be quite so much if I stood on my own two feet and didn't go clutching onto him like a child whenever something pokes at those hidden places in me, those dim rooms I've bricked shut. Ugh! If it only didn't feel all kinds of natural and right to be there in his arms. But I guess it doesn't matter, because I know how he thinks of me now. I heard it from his own (plush, sculpted, imminently kissable) stupid mouth; I have as much womanly appeal as a spindly-legged grasshopper, or an emu. To him, at least.
But not to everyone.
Perhaps it's time to explore other new things, too.
I barely flinch when I find myself walking by the garden at Grace Church, but it does bring me out of my thinking fog and I am instantly made aware of the afternoon bustle of the city I hadn't noticed before this moment. I walk the rest of the way home humming The Beatles, "I Saw Her Standing There."
